I live in a railroad town. Founded in the 1830’s, one railroad ran through town. Actually, the railroad was here first, then settlers and workers gathered. A town soon formed. Two towns, then three. Over the years they merged into one and became West Chicago, Illinois. We are located 30 miles due west of downtown Chicago. As the crow flies, not roadway miles; that would entail 38 miles.
OK, so now you have the setting.
I went to college in a railroad town. That was Galesburg, Illinois, about 150 miles southwest of Chicago. The home of Knox College. The Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad ran through town. Their railyards were immediately behind the men’s dorms. Those yards are still there.
Also running through Galesburg is the Santa Fe railroad. Two national RR’s. A lot of freight, but much passenger traffic, too, before Amtrack. We students had competitive choice for rail travel to Chicago and points east and north.
So, clickety-clack was a backdrop sound in Galesburg. That’s the context.
The feeling added to context was my freshman status in Illinois while home was in New York. Home sickness at first, then simply yearning for a way back east. Every rail bed beckoned such travel. Each train horn lured me to travel.
It was haunting then. It is haunting today. Clickety-clack of freight cars crossing a track junction; distant horn signals, too. The roar of locomotives pulling and pushing two-mile-long trains. They come from somewhere and they go somewhere. Yet I sit on the sidelines and witness only the movement.
What is there at the end of their journey? In either direction, where is there? And what does that mean here is?
I’ve traveled a lot in my life. I don’t need to wonder about any destination, really. If that is not the lure, what is? Motion? Movement to another place as change to the now of existence?
Hmmm. Haunting is but one word for it. Perhaps another is boredom? Or maybe hope.
April 13, 2020
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